Wednesday, August 6, 2008

That Old Black Habit and Happy Birthday to Me

I have a bad habit of getting really, really t-oed when I feel like I'm being ignored/left out/slighted. You can pretty much bet large quantities of money on this problem: if I'm mad because of a circumstance, it's probably because I feel like I'm being intentionally passed by, or unintentionally forgotten (which is worse, because -- hello!? -- how could anyone possibly forget about amazing, fun, everyone-wants-to-be-around Amy!?).

Enter the FRG. Remember how I was all "I'm going to be the FRG superstar?" Well that lasted approximately one week. And then the person who actually communicatd with me left the Charlie Company. And I never heard from the FRG leader.

Ah, that was OK (thought I), because I wasn't technically an Army wife yet and so technically they didn't need to want me to help them.

But then the wedding came and went, and I still had not heard from anyone. Then my husband went to the field for six days, a time when (rumor has it) the FRG sends emails noting changes of plans in return times and all that jazz.

Still nothing. I chose to ignore this whole thing until Luke came home and informed me that I am supposed to be the POC for his platoon -- that would be point of contact, who calls other wifes periodically to let them know about stuff, like the field business I was talking about a bit ago.

Now I started to get a little miffed. I mean, awesome me would love to be involved, but people are going to have to make a little effort to reach out first, cuz there's no way I'm going to do this if no one wants me around.

Fast forward to last night -- I didn't go to a girl's dinner at a friend's house because an FRG meeting was scheduled and, so help me, I was going to make an effort to force these people to want me around. ... that plan would've been awesome, only excepting they moved locations without telling us (or maybe they told Luke in a message on his cell phone, but he deleted it without listening to the whole thing... and let's be honest I was mad at him but I would've done the exact same thing) so we couldn't find them. And a senior NCO's wife/officer's wife coffee scheduled for Thursday evening that I've been hearing about from other people for some time? Still not invited.

A-nnoy-ing.

I stewed about this for approximately two hours before the captain's wife in question called me ... claims to have been sending me emails for a month, but never got a response (um, so, call?). We'll assume she was sending them to the wrong address (what IS it with people and that? Throw back to the mayor's press secretary in D.C. who refused to admit that he had my email address wrong when I complained for an entire year about NEVER getting his press releases ... only to announce two days before he left the job that "oh yeah, I realized I typed your address wrong" ... that man was very tall, but one of the stupidest people I've ever dealt with, but I digress).

For the record, she did seem embarrassed.

I would like to think I was upset about this whole situation for reasons beyond just feeling slighted. I really do want to be helpful and involved with people who need people, and I am certain that the FRG is the perfect way to do this ... it is heart breaking, on some level, to be left a place where that is impossible.~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy birthday to me.

A year ago today the love of my life got his clarity all unblocked and gave me call to tell me that he was tired of fighting it and we should be together. A simple blog post that meant so, so much when read by the right person.

And now I'm married to him, not to mention one digit greater -- a whopping 24-years-old.

No major plans for celebration. As The Girl Who Ruins Surprises I expect myself to accidentally foil all birthday attempts through stubbornness, oblivion or sheer stupidity. Therefore were we really surprised when I found one of my birthday gifts from Luke while he was gone hidden in his shirt drawer? (I maintain my innocence -- the shirts were in desperate need of refolding and reorganizing. Is it my fault that he chose to hide it somewhere where I go regularly to put away his laundry? I think not).